So deep, so central

Pretty pieces, pretty please.
Tie these moments down to my knees.
Kiss me once and kiss me twice.
Run your fingers through my life.
Rock me to sleep with your cooing words.
Then fly me to the moon on big lunar birds.
Or down to the depths like ocean horses.
Singing softly songs in subterranean choruses.
That drift out of caves, and onto the tide.
Covered in shells down deep where I hide.
Because it’s in your arms, and in your heart.
Where I crawl when things get dark.
And touch your warm skin when mine’s like stone.
For in your eyes, it feels like home.

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Divination

What can you promise that will never change?
A predicable prophecy you find at the bottom of your coffee cup.
But this is larger than you or I.
A life of moments hung together like old Christmas tree lights.
This is me saying I love you.

Particular illusions

To sleep under the stars, and to count the heavens.
A result of you burning my bed.
I lie on the cool grass and watch out for comets.
Racing from Olympus to Paradise.
I pulled off the ropes and entanglements.
Escaping with my life, but not my soul.
And now the clouds that cover the milky way.
Blotting out the moon.
Is just the smoke, from the ashes of our home.
Yet suddenly you appear, covered in moon dust.
With starlight diamonds in your eyes.
And you take my hand, and tip the sky over.
Shaking out the stars.
Promising me treasure to be found in our ruins.

Extirpate

Shivering into this new world.
Of a day broken over me like the sunshine egg yolk of realisation.
That an absence now fills this room.
A void as cold as winter, that settles into these bones.
Reborn into a version of such violence and void that my head aches into grey.
And my heart, slips away; into adjustment.
You folded us into memory.
A slight of hand that speaks with a voice of your reasoning.
Echoing now in my ears.
And my tears will turn to chalk.
While the plants die all around me.
A fate that flutters on my lips, like butterflies trapped in conservatories.
Glancing at the world around, yet smashing again and again against the glass.
Yet still you toil and dig at the weeds of my entanglement.
That curled around you like a summer’s blanket.
And you sheer, and slice.
Digging hard at my roots. Killing me a thousand times over.
Praying I rot away and turn into time.

Angular resolution

Lost to everyone but myself.
As I stream through the cosmos.
Touching the stars with my fingertips.
Pausing by the swirling galaxies that shine like glistening pools of diamonds.
Would I find you here?
Carved out of something seen by no-one but God.
You speak words of another time and place.
Resting softly in my head like feathers from the future.
Plucked from a comets tail which snakes back to earth.
Threatening the order.
Teasing from above like angels dropping thunderbolts.
All around but absent.
Could I lose you there?
In that place only you and I know of.
Cut in half if you begin to forget.
Faded in the half light of a dawn you once promised.
Erasing the earth like a solar eclipse.
Yet I feel you, on this night.
In this skin that’s cratered like the lunar surface.
And I touch the place you once kissed me.
Believing once more in ghosts.

Humbled by such disgust

Undeniably threatened by such conditioning.
Undressing to the eyes of the easily criticised.
Such abuse of positions leaves me shaking.
Before, one after.
Waiting once more for the clock to heave and settle upon me.
Travelled to time zones beyond understanding.
Confused and abused notions of respect.
Never apologising to myself.
Painting each vertebrae yellow.
Only shadows behind those once wild eyes.
Corner darting to search for you.
Counting the orgasms and commitment that never came.
Amazing now with hollow bones and an absent mind.
What I gave away, you store in a room.
In a box.
Out of sight.
So never to tempt me to flee.
Left alone.
In a bath.
Bathing in your bleach.

Salt in the soul

What do you do, when cannot breathe inside?
As the voices pull and call you out to sea.
Caught on the tide of time.
The sun sweats out the salty dreams.
Moments of disconnection.
Burning and fizzing in the heat and spray.
On a day, far from over.
And though you try to ride the tide of change.
You only get battered, smashed against the rocky shores of truth.

Journal – I had to grab a suitcase

I’m all alone and I can’t get back. Get back with my wanderlust.

I am very fortunate to be able to travel. It’s a freedom that I do not take for granted and one I appreciate greatly. My recent wander-lusting has taken me to Australia, the land of vegemite sandwiches and killer spiders…..
Read the rest over at the journal

MR

Weeds got there first

The walls ached with their knowledge.
While the eyes of the portraits licked across the skin.
Of all those souls who dwelled within.
And even this was barely acknowledged.
For life climbed up to the ceiling.
Wrapped around each feeling.
And slithered and slunk under skin.
But the sun had its day, and blistered the wallpaper.
Bringing tears to the eyes of the young.
Who wished to bury the sun.
In the deep soil of their souls.
The petal parts and the pith.
Of the flowers and the myth.
Of which we cannot control.
And the house still stands, and the grounds still shudder.
Promising a life, unlike no other.
That blooms and ebbs like the stretching seasons.
And climbs to heaven, for most godly reasons.
To meet the maker, and the cultivator.
Basking like the wheat in the field.
Forgetting the devil, and his own dry thirst.
Ignoring that the weeds got there first.

The Butterfly farmer

Iain Kelly

‘That really works?’ I asked pointing at the patterned umbrella.

‘It seems to draw them out.’

‘Besides from look nice, what do butterflies do anyway?’

‘They pollinate, they control other insect numbers, they indicate a healthy environment.’

A Red Admiral with it’s black and orange wings fluttered around us. The old lady swooshed her net after it, but the butterfly dodged her attempts.

‘Not worth chasing after,’ she shrugged, ‘quite common, not worth much.’

The collapse and extinction of butterfly species had been one of the first indicators that we had failed, that our time on this planet was coming to an end. Now most of the humans had left, the butterfly numbers were recovering.

The old eyes glinted in excitement. ‘Look there,’ she pointed. ‘A Palos Verdes Blue. One of the rarest in the world. It could be worth millions.’ She moved off in pursuit.

I made a note of…

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Problematic providence

The least I can do is, is to rip this skin off.
To strip the bones of the sinful wrapping.
Do you know, it is your body I wish to devour?
Sampling chunks of Christ to purify.
Oh my god, do you know what waters run underneath.
Holy and polluted, waiting to be washed by biblical floods of love.
Yet to detest all of it seems wasteful, for thou art in your image.
An image which feels like a memory.
Do you feast on me? Do you drink my blood?
How sacred is the house that sits on such rocky promise.
A church in the corner of the room where the shadows dwell.
Thy kingdom to come home to, when the world drives me out.
With each act of contrition, with each prayer I mumble.
Wanting, hoping, begging to be like you.
I sink and think, swimming in your brilliance, drowning in your light.
Wondering perhaps, if I am already my own messiah.

Calcination of a dying angel

A flicker in a flame that sets the beat.
Ticking over the tock of a time unravelling.
This flame that scotches the hands that hither.
Trying to love and caress, only to be burnt.
Those feeding fingers that crisp.
The smell of burnt skin and hurt.
Yet a call from within threatens mountainous shifts.
That this life of fire will burn to ash.
And a darkness will follow.
One where we can move without ever being noticed.
For in the dark, we can truly see ourselves.
And I will once again think of running away.

Escape

She ran into the lake, she flew into the trees.
Wandering like a ghost, too anxious to please.
Who she left behind, and who she carried within.
Beyond the bones of love, trapped now beneath her skin.
How she tied to shake them, before she fled her mind.
A sanctuary above her, grown fragile over time.
For they had now invaded, and refused requests to leave.
Confessing words of affection, too hard for her to believe.
So now she sped into the sky, and dove into the ocean.
Killing them most quickly, but guiltily in slow motion.
She hoped she would escape the thoughts, now running through her mind.
Of being held accountable, condemned now for all time.
With a blood on her hands, and sadness in her heart.
Leaving this earth the way she wanted, her end now has a start.

The Island

Sky west and crooked, that’s where you’ll find me.
Wallowing in the shallows of a spirit so deep.
No man is an island, yet here the land mirrors my form.
Hewn coarsely out of limestone and chalk, strong and cratered like the moon.
You may cast you anchor down to my sandy soil.
Hoping to raise your flag and conquer me.
As you explore what you think you now possess.
But a volcanic change of thought will turn these tables.
Collapsing all that lies in reach.
And we shall sink, beneath the waves of our doomed Atlantis.
To be spoken of in awe by those who follow our demise.

Latch

The door is swinging, wide and heavy on its fastening.
Through it comes the night, the eerie mist of maddening intent.
The latch is forever broken, letting in the misery.
Sounds of hell and voices of those I love.
Or have loved, for the door does not discriminate.
It sends in souls and sounds that would rock such a fragile house on sticks.
Memories to twist and turn the rooms upside down.
And rain to lash at these windows inside.
Like tears on a mirror, slipping down the pane.
The latch unhinged, dusty and broken like an unwound mind.
Rusty and obsolete in its current state.
Squeaking it’s lament and apathy.
A quick fix, a drop of oil.
To keep the ghosts and the monster at bay.
Out in the other land of nightmares.
While I try to re-arrange this room of dreams.

Exuberant voices

The crystal bell in this head rings out.
Shattering the dark, sending the bats into flight.
Cavernous places these thoughts do dwell.
But the night light beckons and calls.
Whispers catch on the summer breeze.
Emerging back into a world unfamiliar.
They trickle down the spine, in thoughts so sublime that they leave me restless.
Waiting for the tide to turn.
How they put up streamers and plait the hair of my age into golden weaves.
Singing me to sleep with their lullabies.
These exuberant voices compete to lift this heavy spirit.
Bringing the heavens and the sky down to me.
But back in that cave, behind the rocks and darkness.
Lies a thought, a niggling worm at the core of me.
Now asking, these voices I hear; why are there more than one?

You are my religion

I feel your skin, soft and silky like bible pages.
Precious-sacred, and containing such wonder.
The church of your heart tolls the bell in my soul.
Calling me to prayer.
Forcing me to bow.
Anointed, and blessed while you crucify for a kiss.
Keeping my faith locked like a secret only I will know.
You are my religion.
Knowing I’ll always be devout.
Hallelujah.

Infractuated

This is where the call came in.
21.09 as the tables turned.
Nothing learned, and feeling fine.
It got a little cold out there baby.
Running the whole world on your lie.
Catching time, trying not to try.
But your control used to cover you.
Now it rolls you over, and you try to let go.
But no.
She wants a little more than you offered.
Coming now to pay the piper.
That pound of flesh you carrot dangled.
Creating such frenzied envy.
And now, here comes that awful feeling.
Smudged with eyeliner and regret.
And as your mouth rolls fables like marbles.
The truth with whisky garbles, like a politician camera posing.
I know you see her. I know you wonder how it will end.
In the end, you lose.

W/B – Fishing for light

To read the previous installments, click here

It was not the nature of the lady of the jars to be idle. Though she lived a somewhat idealised life, she was never one to shy away from work. Though her magical abilities helped in many ways, she believed hard work and action were the ways to get things done. She respected the powers that had come alive within, the knowledge that had been entrusted with her. Which is why she was keen to spring to action in helping the girl who had fallen from the stars.

There in her small kitchen, she watched as the girl curiously looked over her book of magic, wondering what they could both share with one another before the end. For she knew an end was coming, and every end had a start.

“Right, I think we’re going to need a little bit of help.” She said, looking deep into the azure wells that seemed etched with blue veins, the lamp light catching her eyes in a hauntingly special way.

“What do you mean?” the girl asked, no fright or reservation gave way in her voice. Just curiosity.

“Well, though we are protected here in my little cottage; and the snow will offer us more protection, there are things outside that I’ve begun to notice that might try and make things a little tricky for us.” The lady said, looking out the windows into the darkened grey beyond.

“Where are we going then?” The girl asked, holding her wrist the lady noticed, her hand spread like a small mirror. The lady hesitated.

“Do you sense them too?” the lady asked suddenly. The girl blushed purple, or seemed to blush, for she was actually in the process of travelling beyond the walls of the cottage. Projecting a version of herself outside to look around.

“I see a man, and things I do not know of.” The girl replied, the colour draining now away from her face.

The lady sighed slightly.

“He will never learn I fear.” She said, going over to the window to take a look for herself. But the snow was thick and heavy, and obscured much of her view. She turned back to the girl. “We need to go to a place where the energy centres collide. We need to conjure something which is much beyond what I can store in a little jar. It’s a place not far, at the centre of the forest. There is a clearing and you will feel it before you see it. It’s a very special place but I’m afraid it does not hold the type of protection my cottage has. This energy, this magic is not owned by anyone. It’s powerful and magnificent. Like the electricity that runs in the big cities. Anyone can tap into it. We can light a room or power a bomb, it’s how we use it that matters.”

The girl looked on, thinking suddenly of her home planet Europa. Where the ice coral was used to power and give life to the subterranean cities. This power was never abused, but cherished; a blessing that had come to them. And then she remembered the coral she had taken the day she left. That which she didn’t need but had spirited away with her. Why she had, she still was unsure of. Something within her had told her to. The same conflicting voices that sometimes forced her to act in ways she knew were different from everyone else.

“Are you okay?” the lady asked. Noticing how the patterns on her skin had changed suddenly, taking on a metallic colouring, covering the skin in an almost armoury sheath.

“Yes, I’m fine honestly. Sorry, I was thinking about something…..This place we need to go to, is it far?” She asked.

The lady watched as the metallic colours shimmered away, and the aqua blue hues began to dance and sway once more. She was concerned, it was the first moment she had seen as if the girl was frightened.

“No, it isn’t far really. But we will need some help to get there, and to shake off that man who is outside and who you have now seen. He’s the gentlemen of the boxes and he thinks you are here to help him with something.” She said.

“Can I help him?” The girl asked.

“Yes, you can. But you shouldn’t my dear. For what he wants helps no-one but himself. Before this is over, I think he will learn perhaps the biggest lesson. For wheels are in motion now that cannot be stopped, even if the destination is still unknown.” She replied, going now to the cupboards in her pantry.

“Oh, I see. It’s funny how we slide so precariously on destiny’s string.” The girl said. The lady turned and smiled at her.

“Indeed, destiny brought you here. And it’s destiny that we can still have a hand in. Come, there are things to be done.” She said, grabbing a bag that was tucked away under one of the chairs. “We need a few things, but I must quickly go and wake Ezra.

The lady of the jars opened her front door, pushing aside the drifts of snow which had built up during the day. Out of habit, she kicked off the snow which had collected over her doormat, revealing a ‘Welcome’ that had been hidden by the snow that the overhang had failed to protect from. Stepping outside, she got a greater sense of what was now out here. She had known the gentlemen of the boxes was around, she had sensed him earlier. But now she felt something else, and she reached quickly into her pocket and took out two coloured vials. They glowed there in her hand and in the dark. She took the red one and popped the stopper out with her thumb. The contents rushed upward and dispersed into a small cloud in front of her. In the blink of an eye the red vapour sped away and around the house. It collected back in front of her and she could see then in the smoke what it was. They had left their mark, staining the ground and the space where they had been.

“Dimian” she said, her breathe dispersing the red cloud in front of her which drifted quickly up into the sky, lost suddenly the in the snow which continued to fall. Dimian were old, ancient creatures which dwelled in the ground. They weren’t necessarily bad creatures, just all consuming. They gobbled and swallowed all the power they needed for their epoch slumbers, consuming vast amounts of previous ancient magic to keep themselves sustained. They did not discriminate on who or what they devoured. The Lady of the jars had her own protections against these creatures, but the sheer number of what she had seen in the cloud gave her pause for thought. Clearly the landing of the girl, and her cosmic concentration had woken them, fuelled them to seek out this treasure trove of power. She would have to be careful.

Inside the cottage the girl went about collecting the items the lady had asked for and adding further layers to her clothes in preparation for their journey. The lady now walked swiftly to the middle of her garden and took the other vial she had in her hand. This one glowed strong with a yoke yellow light. She reached a mound in the middle where a small stature of a boy stood, a fishing rod holding up a huge lantern that flickered out a warming flame in the dark. This was one of her protective elements to her cottage. The boy stood as a guardian, casting his light and power around her little home. But he could also do more than that. She cracked the vial over his head, sending the snow that had collected there up into the air like yellow dust. The vial smashed, but like that of an egg, as the yellow contents dripped down his head and covered his body. With a final flash of light the stone broke away and the boy came to life.

“Ezra, good to see you.” The lady said, as the boy swung the lantern on the fishing pole over her head.

“Brrrrr, it’s always so cold! Don’t you ever have a taste for warmer climates?”

The lady laughed. “Well, you are only wearing pyjamas. But you know me…” She said, a twinkle in her eye.

“That I do.” Ezra said, smiling a little and looking around. “Which usually means there’s a perilous task me for me, right?”

“Got it in one, but this time there is a damsel in distress.” She said.

“Really. Well, I would have put you more in the spinster in danger category myself.” Ezra said, putting the fishing pole under his arms so he could rub his hands together.

“You know, I could move for a more Grecian theme to your statured state, sans pyjamas!” she said, mockingly. Ezra looked around into the billowing snow.

“Alright, alright. Who needs saving this time?” He asked.

“Come, you can meet her and then I’ll show what we need to do.” She said, taking the fishing pole from him and opened the little door on the lantern. She tipped out a little flame which she hurriedly captured in a bottle she retrieved from her pocket. And placed it on the ground where Ezra had stood just before. It glowed in the dark and gave a warmth which melted the snow slightly around it. Looking like a sparking amber jewel in a sea of white.

to be continued…. 

Swallowing tomorrow

Who reads a smiling poet’s words?
Ones that bridge the chasm from heartache to heaven.
Do you care to wash in the tears of the lonely?
Or splash yourself in city rain, dirty from the walk of life.
These moments we catch and keep.
Lock inside where the heartbeats remind us we’re still existing.
Coveting and creating.
Moving and replacing like tectonic continents of sorrow and elation.
Self-serving commotion in a noisy crowd of others.
Screaming to be heard and praying to be forgotten.
Who wants to read a dead girls dreams?
Slashed away like the wrist on a foggy November.
Or trapped in amber to survive generations.
We are the pendulum kids, swinging from north to south.
Mouth and eyes open to catch it all and swallow as we fly by.
With tears in our eyes; not knowing if their happy ones or sad.